


Sightseeing

by fucker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Flirting, M/M, plot without porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 19:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20662337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fucker/pseuds/fucker
Summary: Frederick lets himself enjoy a well-deserved night out.





	Sightseeing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nevadatrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevadatrash/gifts).

> Commission for [nevadatrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevadatrash) :3
> 
> It turns out I'm not great at writing anything that isn't disgustingly explicit; apologies in advance if you continue to scroll.
> 
> OCs are plot devices and nothing more; take them if you want them!

"Whiskey sour, please. And a water."

Frederick turned on his stool to scope out the bar. A rather generic-looking crowd, but he hadn't been expecting anything all that special on a Wednesday night. A few men caught his eye as he scanned the room, but most seemed to be there with someone. 

There was one man on the dance floor that had piqued his interest the second he opened the door. Tall and broad and muscular, he was a textbook example of Frederick's type. He looked to be about six feet tall with wavy hair, either brown or black; the light was too dim to tell. A white, short-sleeved button up contrasted beautifully with tan skin, dark chest hair and a neatly cropped beard, and a few piercings in his right ear glinted in the light as he moved. 

Frederick wondered if he had any others. He wouldn't mind finding out, ideally while he was pressed tight enough against the man's body that he could feel them through his clothes. It was a crying shame he'd never get to. The stranger was up to his neck in a crowd of lean, smooth muscle; half a dozen eager young men milling around him clearly waiting to take a shot. All of them a fraction of his age. Frederick didn't stand a chance.

"Whiskey sour for you, boss."

He was momentarily distracted by the bartender setting his drink down in front of him. He’d clearly forgotten the water, but Frederick— _ commendably, _he thought— didn't mention it. He nodded his thanks. 

"Just holler if there's anything else I can get you," the young man grinned. He slotted a slice of lemon onto the rim of Frederick's glass with a wink and disappeared to the other side of the bar. 

Frederick took one swallow and instantly regretted not mentioning the water. He wheezed a bit, somehow repressing the urge to cough. That was easily a double, likely even stronger— a nice gesture on the bartender's part, whether the young man was new, flirting or just after tips, but the unexpected alcohol content had his throat on fire. He gave in and coughed twice, just to get it out.

A second, more cautious sip went down easier, and Frederick turned back to the floor. It took him a moment to pick the man he'd had an eye on out of the crowd, but Frederick found him easily enough. He'd moved to the far side of the room, and it looked like most of the interested parties had followed suit. He had one young man on each hip grinding against him, clearly competing with each other for attention, and he was doing absolutely nothing to spurn their advances. 

He was_ encouraging _ them, in fact. He had an arm around each, and, as Frederick watched, he gripped the man on the left just above his ass and pulled him closer. Frederick's stomach tightened and he bit his lip. He’d never been one for dancing and had never regretted that fact, but he was having a sudden change of heart. The stranger was clearly having a good time; enjoying all the attention from the much younger men and seemingly unbothered by the fact that half the bar had eyes on him.

He ran his hand up the back of the young man on his right, then through his hair. Frederick knew exactly what was coming, but he still wasn't prepared for the rush of arousal that came with seeing that hand turn into a fist and tug, pulling the young man's head back and exposing his neck. Frederick twitched in interest, even as a slow, hot ball of jealousy formed and began to bubble up in his gut. He felt it coming; tried to swallow it, but his anxiety got the better of him and that volatile little ball exploded in his chest before he could will it out of existence.

_ It's okay to have feelings, _ he reminded himself, but it didn't help. He turned back to the bar with a gentle frown and absentmindedly fished the cherry out of his glass, considered the cartoonishly red fruit for a moment, then flipped it into his mouth by the stem. Sickeningly sweet, but the lemon made it bearable. He grimaced and downed what was left of his drink in a few quick gulps to wash the syrupy taste out of his mouth.

There was one particularly handsome— and, more importantly, _ single_— man at the opposite end of the bar, and Frederick was all too grateful to have somewhere else to turn his attention. Lean, well dressed, with tasteful glasses and gorgeous dark hair; long enough to fall forward onto his forehead but short enough that it stayed out of his eyes. Frederick pinned his cherry between teeth and tongue, willing the man to look in his direction as he watched him flag down the bartender.

Desire quickly turned to dismay as the young man behind the bar nodded, poured two elaborate shots topped with whipped cream, and delivered them to two women at the other end of the bar. Frederick did, unfortunately, know exactly what those shots were, and had been on the receiving end of quite a few back in the day, more often than not delivered with a smirk from an amused barkeep. He sighed to himself, but his brief moment of self-pity was quickly put to an end. 

"Your water, sir." The bartender flipped a second coaster onto the bar in front of Frederick and set down a pint of ice water. "Really sorry about that."

He was awfully cute when he stood still long enough to admire; tall and blonde, wide shoulders, narrow hips, and a whole swath of freckles right across the bridge of his nose. Frederick was a sucker for freckles. Maybe it was a refraction from the man's orange shirt, or possibly just the warm lighting in the place, but somehow they looked almost golden. Too bad he was off-limits, at least until his shift ended.

"Not a problem," Frederick assured him. Then, before he had a chance to talk himself out of it: "What time do you get off?"

"Well," the young man looked him up and down in consideration, and Frederick felt the tips of his ears turn red. "Usually when I shower in the morning."

Frederick blushed but didn't break eye contact. There was nowhere near enough alcohol in his system for this, but he pressed on anyway. "Care for an extra pair of hands next time?"

Something in the bartender's expression changed. His pupils flared briefly; only for a second, but Frederick happened to be looking. He leaned over the bar toward towards the psychiatrist, mopping at an imaginary spill with his dishtowel. "Stick around 'til close and I'll put more than your hands to good use."

Frederick's breath audibly hitched, and the young man flashed him a smirk before disappearing under the counter momentarily. He reappeared with two bottled beers in each hand, winked at Frederick, and strolled off to deliver the drinks like nothing had happened.

_ He wasn't from around here_. Everything about him exuded West coast energy, from those boyish freckles, cropped blonde curls, and toothy smile down to his Billabong tank top and speech patterns. No discernible accent, but his slow, easy way of speaking wasn't something that you came across very often in the Northeast. It was quite nice to listen to, really, and Frederick found himself staring, watching him pull drinks and deliver them with that contagious grin. 

He was young, and Frederick struggled to recall whether you could serve alcohol at eighteen or if you had to be twenty one. Either way, he still couldn't have been any more than half the psychiatrist's age, and Frederick felt a stab of guilt. Younger men weren’t even his thing, but there was something about this one that had him feeling like a dirty old man for admiring what was being waved under his nose. _ It was the freckles. It had to be. _

Frederick glanced at his watch and stifled a yawn. It was past eleven, and he’d normally be in bed by now, but the bartender had said close. _ Last call was what, two? Two thirty? _ He could wait. He idly flicked the stem of his cherry back and forth with his tongue, wondering exactly what more than his hands entailed.

"Didn't your ma ever tell you not to play with your food?"

Frederick whipped his head around, came face to face with a white linen shirt, and looked up. He nearly inhaled his cherry at the sight of the man from the dance floor towering over him, but was quickly relieved of the choking hazard as the stranger picked the cherry from between Frederick's lips and popped it into his own mouth.

"Jaime." The man smiled and held out a hand in greeting.

"Um," Frederick automatically took the man’s hand and shook, instantly noting how his own hand was dwarfed in the stranger’s palm. Six feet had been a piss-poor estimation, and he swallowed hard. He was looking at six foot four easy; likely closer to six and a half if the psychiatrist was willing to admit that he maybe wasn't _ quite _the height stamped on his driver's license. "Frederick."

"You're pretty cute, Frederick." The man cocked his head to one side, sizing him up. "Can I call you Freddy?"

Frederick's brain was saying no, but his dick was saying yes, and he certainly hadn't gotten dressed up and driven across town for the intellectual aspect of a night at the bar. "Buy me another drink and you can call me anything you want."

_ Too forward_. He cringed internally the second that the words left his mouth, but the man— _ Jaime, had he said? _— seemed to like that. He waved at the bartender, pointed at Frederick's empty glass, and held up two fingers. 

"Awfully demanding for a guy that's been staring at me all night," Jaime grinned. "Thought maybe I'd be the one getting a free drink."

"Not my style," Frederick shrugged. He wasn’t sure his face could get any redder, but he was refusing to let embarrassment get the better of him. "Buying someone a drink comes with the implication that you're the one in charge."

"Huh,” Jaime looked him up and down again, slower this time. “So I’ve got a sub on my hands, then, haven’t I.”

_ Take me home and find out_, Frederick thought, but he was spared the indignity of having to respond by the bartender, who set two fresh drinks in front of the pair of men. He disappeared fast enough, but not without mouthing something at Frederick with another wink; something that looked suspiciously like “just go with it”.

Jaime was quick to confiscate the cherry from Frederick’s drink and add it to his own. "Unfair advantage," he explained. "I think you already know that.”

Frederick barely felt the small swell of pride that came with that simple sentence. He was far more interested in the shadow below Jaime’s arm that seemed to be moving with him. He frowned slightly as the man moved again and the shadow stuck with him; seemingly on its own with no apparent light source. He had a brief memory of a book his mother had read him as a child, one where someone’s shadow was its own independent entity and had needed to be sewn on, but there was still a small part of his brain capable of reason. _ A tattoo; it was a massive tattoo covering what had to be eighty percent of his right side. _

"What, you like that or something?" 

He was staring, but it didn’t matter. The man ran a hand down his side, and Frederick couldn't help the way his eyes widened. With the sheer fabric pressed up against his skin like that he could make out what appeared to be an intricate DaVinci reproduction; the Vitruvian man wrapped around his ribs, with what looked like a rough sketch of Michelangelo's David just below. He was mildly curious about the significance, but more than anything, he just wanted to get his mouth on it.

_ He’d been asked a question_, he realized. "_Yes_."

"Come home with me and maybe I'll let you touch."

"_Fuck— _ I mean, _ yes_. Christ, I've been waiting to hear that all night." Frederick tossed back what was left of his drink, fished a twenty out of his wallet and threw it onto the counter, and nearly went ass over elbows in his haste to get to his feet.

“Oop!” 

Two big hands caught him around the waist before he hit the floor, effortlessly picking him up and setting him back on his feet, and Frederick could’ve died happy right then and there. He was focused on not creaming his pants more than anything after that nonchalant display of strength, but he managed to blink up at Jaime, hoping his thankfulness was conveyed through that look alone, because he certainly didn’t trust his voice. 

"Don’t worry, I got you." Jaime smiled down at Frederick and mussed his hair. “Let’s get you out of here, huh?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to [message](https://fuckerao3.tumblr.com/ask) or [DM](https://www.tumblr.com/message/fuckerao3) me with questions, suggestions, or requests (no promises), or if you'd like to beta!


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